


Quasar

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touching him is ill-advised. He is the Demon's corporeal brother/child/self-servant, and she is the living incarnation of the universe. The air turns electric when they stand too close together, and sometimes, when he brushes against her, she can feel the universe stutter ever so slightly. They're just representatives of something greater, but that's all they've ever been, no matter what they were before they were this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quasar

Touching him is ill-advised. He is the Demon's corporeal brother/child/self-servant, and she is the living incarnation of the universe. The air turns electric when they stand too close together, and sometimes, when he brushes against her, she can feel the universe stutter ever so slightly. They're just representatives of something greater, but that's all they've ever been, no matter what they were before they were this.

She can feel him looking at her most days, even through the walls of the house, even through the planet core. Snowman's sure the same goes for him, because whenever she thinks about him, he always seems to be nearby. This is something too dangerous to chance, a flirtation that they can't risk giving into. But they keep dancing around one another, standing that bit too close and trading looks when no one else is watching.

There's a telescope in the backyard, and if she presses her eye against the end, she can look out into the stars. It's cheap and mostly useless, the lens warped from the heat of the desert, but sometimes at night, she swears she can see Lord English. Snowman feels him, and that's a strange thing to say, but it's true. She is the universe, and the universe is her, and they are both so aware of English's presence that sometimes it's hard to breathe.

Most of the time, they resist the urges. She goes to her room and locks the door, and she lies on the bed with her eyes closed and loses herself within the almost infinite boundaries of the universe. The stars always seem more radiant with one hand between her thighs and the densely packed core of the universe shines so bright that it makes the nights less dark and the days a little hotter. But sometimes... sometimes...

He's like marble, cold and hard and oh so cool after the heat of the desert. Scratch's hands slide across the curve of her neck, trailing sparks in his wake. It smells like burning ozone when he presses his face against her forehead, but she doesn't really mind the smell. He has no lips to kiss, but that doesn't matter too much. She presses a few kisses against the place his lips might have been, and the taste of electricity floods her mouth, sharp and hot.

"Are you sure-" He always asks that, even though they both know the answer to that question. She answers with actions instead of words, hands pressed against the smooth cold curves of his head.

They carefully undress one another, baring stretches of pristine ivory and interlocking shell. Scratch isn't shy, making his wants known in every touch, in the way he holds her body against his. He is cold, and she is hot, and where they touch for too long, green energy builds between them. Far above them, billions and billions and billions of miles above and around them, their counterparts go through similar motions.

The universe is already naked, and not at all shaped like a woman, though it is a woman. And Scratch's counterpart is nothing like Scratch, nothing like anything at all, but it is his counterpart none the less. And as Scratch settles his hands against Snowman's bare hips, sliding them around to cup her ass, so does Lord English embrace the universe, the demon's appendages creeping across the event horizon.

Scratch has a bed. It exists for only this purpose, rare as the occasions are. The bedspread is green, just like the rest of the room, just like the rest of the mansion. She splays herself across it, breasts and hips and lips inviting him to join her. Scratch accepts the invitation, kneeling on the bed and sliding his smooth pale body overtop of Snowman He weighs heavily on her, his featureless face pressing against hers, and then down, against her breasts. She sighs a little as the coolness sinks into her carapace and soothes her. Scratch's pale hands move across her body, mapping out every last inch of it with cold fire.

Snowman spreads her thighs, and so does the universe, laying itself open for the demon. Scratch positions himself, moving in time with his master. When he slides in, when they slide in, the universe twists and rolls and moans. A thousand stars flicker, and Snowman brings her hands up, wrapping around the back of Doc Scratch's neck. Wherever they touch, there are sparks, green as the blankets she's lying on. The universe shudders as Snowman moans, and Scratch thrusts down into her.

The sky is so full of stars, and a cold light covers everything. Snowman brings her knees up, twisting her hips to better suit Scratch's own angle. He fucks her with slow deep thrusts, and it's maddening in a way, maddening because she wants him to go faster, harder. But the universe isn't as sturdy as Snowman, and there are a million star systems that are already shifting and sliding, threatening to crash into one another. They have to content themselves with this careful place, the slow build instead of something quick. Waiting for these moments always makes them cherish them more, but it also makes them greedy.

The stars glimmer and twinkle, and Snowman slides her fingers across his smooth back and feels the spikes of electricity run up her arms, into the heart of her and the universe itself. Lord English embraces the universe and a thousand star systems die without nary a thought, blinking out in a gasp of fire and leaving nothing but an empty hole in the sky. Again and again it repeats, each thrust from Scratch, every low soft moan from Snowman. Her thighs clench tightly around Scratch, just as the universe clenches around the demon, and they moan and move so wantonly, almost begging for more.

They're careful but careful isn't enough. The universe shudders and time begins to stretch here and there. In the desert, well-dressed men encounter older versions of themselves and are shocked to see the wrappings and to remember these moments from the other side. In one part of the city, all the clocks go out of sync and never match up ever again, always running a few hours behind. Time sinks here and time skips there, and the slow build makes the universe tremble with the strain. In the other room, English's cairo overcoat begins to show the strain, fabric ripping and colours running out of sync. Snowman's thighs echo the universe, and her voice is low and breathy and almost laughing beneath her sometimes lover.

Doc Scratch cannot not kiss her because he has no lips to kiss her with, but he caresses her, he slips his hands across her body and little sparks mark a trail. He presses the smoothness of his head against her breasts, against her cheeks, and it isn't like kissing, but it's still just as intimate. Each touch is a reminder: the universe belongs to English; Snowman belongs to Scratch.

She is so warm, so pliant, so willing to move as he moves her, to tilt her hips so he can slide in deeper. In this green room, on this unused bed, she winds her fingers in the sheets and prays he will never stop, that he will push into her again and again until the end of all time. Energy crackles and pulses through her with every thrust, and she writhes beneath him, the universe writhes beneath him. Scratch's hands cup her breasts and he makes her sing a cacophony of bawdy noises, mewing and moaning and begging him to go faster, deeper, harder, anything, please. He finally yields and does as she asks, burying the length of himself into her as deep as he can go, hips pressed tight against the branch of her legs.

All the stars burn bright, some brighter than others, and when she comes, everything feels it. Her body goes taunt with pleasure she can't even describe, and the universe goes taunt with her, a thousand suns exploding into supernovas. The burning core of the world lies exposed and raw and open, waiting to be devoured by the demon. English touches it with one long tentacle, soaking up the power of a billion stars, just as Scratch touches her centre as well with his own appendage. Snowman lies there helpless, body jerking again and again as aftershocks flood through her. And Scratch continues to fuck her, those hands holding her steady as he begins to crackle with the potent energy of the demon king, thrusting again and again and again.

The tentacle withdraws, for now, leaving the universe alive another day. English retreats, and his servant reaches his own apex. Scratch discharges the energy around him in a green burst that leaves the air thick like an oncoming storm, and her insides wet with something without a name. He doesn't pant or breath heavily, but there's a slick sheen of condensation over his otherwise featureless form. It drips onto her skin here and there, sizzling as it touches the superheated surface of her carapace. Snowman shudders again as he withdraws, thighs still laid open for a moment before closing. Far above, the universe does the same in the wake of the demon's retreat. Scratch pulls away from her, knowing better than to push the fabric of the universe much further. The Felt's tailor surveys the damage done to the cairo overcoat and begins to mend it once more.

Scratch sits at the end of the bed, so near, and so far away, the air still crackling between them with a potential that has no name. Soon, he'll dress and leave. Soon, she'll do the same. But for now, for the moment, he watches her with a careful eye, and the demon does the same, studying the sprawled and sated universe. Scratch speaks, voice crystallizing in the air, "Was it good?"

Snowman smiles at him, pulling herself up onto her elbows. Her skin still crackles here and there, green and yellow running across the dark smooth curves of her carpace, "It was wonderful," She says, voice lazy and content.

There are dead stars here and there, near the edges of the universes, outliers that hardly matter to anyone. The star system that Alternia exists in continues as it always has, turning steadily on one arm of the universe. A billion stars continue to glow as they should and the universe seems content, despite the dead patches. Only English notices that the universe is a little dimmer than it was before they began.

Maybe one of these days this will mean the death of the universe. But until then, their courtship will continue, months and years full of longing looks and standing too-close until the passion builds, until they give in and tear the universe at the seams one more.


End file.
